by C J Burright
Adara forced her seemingly fifty-pound feet to move until instruments flanked her and the couch was close enough to catch her if she collapsed.
“Now I deeply regret not ordering a bed sooner.” His voice reverberated, as if it rose from a well.
“You mean beds,” she said absently. A sense of déjà vu made her lightheaded, all the instruments an echo from an hour ago and the expected gut-punch still hadn’t come. Maybe after airing out the Joey closet today, her emotions had flat-lined, incapable of absorbing any more blows.
“No one has ever spent the night with me before.” He plucked the bags of food from her and stooped in her face, forcing her to focus on him. His smile was slow and completely playful. “And if we’re sleeping under the same roof, neshama, I prefer one bed.” He darted out with the food before she could think up a snarky response.
She dug her fingers into the back of the couch and resumed digesting her shelter for the night. While the rest of the house waited for Garret’s final touch, this room had his fingerprints everywhere—his running shoes in the corner, a pair of jeans and a graphic T slung over one couch arm, a black beanie on the piano bench, music paper spread above the keys and notes penciled in his loopy handwriting. Despite the fact he’d been in her bedroom several times and she was more than familiar with him, being here felt extremely, awkwardly personal.
As if tugged by a gentle tractor beam, she wandered to the piano and sank onto the wooden bench. She ran a finger over the smooth rows of black and white keys, not pressing hard enough to make any noise. Once upon a time, Joey would pound the keys and she’d sing. His enthusiasm would drag her in so fast and hard that she wouldn’t realize she was neck-deep in his music until it was too late. He had been so much like Garret.
But what Garret awakened in her definitely wasn’t brotherly.
“Do you play?” Garret’s voice preceded the aroma of warmed up Chinese food only by a second. He swung a leg over the piano bench, straddling it, facing her. Each hand carried a paper plate holding enough rice to feed China.
“Of course.” On a whim, she lifted her chin and positioned her hands on the keys. “I’ll show you the meaning of prodigy.” She plinked out a stilted version of Chopsticks. A year of avoiding music couldn’t erase her first memorized piano tune.
“Bravo!” Laughing, Garret balanced a plate on each thigh and applauded. At his piercing whistle, she couldn’t completely hide her grin. “You shouldn’t have done that, darling. Now I’ll have to keep you locked up here. Once people hear your surely divine-inspired talent, I won’t have any fans left to support me.”
“What was your backup career?” Abandoning the piano, she angled his way and took a plate. “If you didn’t make it as a musician?”
His smile faded, and he handed her a fork from his shirt pocket. “I didn’t even comprehend until my teenage years that I could defy my mother’s wishes and pursue a different occupation if I truly wanted to.” He shrugged. “I was born with music in my veins, and my mother recognized that. Despite how she relentlessly drove me, even in days I wanted to punch my violin until it was only strings and slivers, I never second-guessed music as my life.”
Must be nice. She hadn’t figured out she wanted to be a teacher until she was almost done with her accounting degree. She slowly chewed rice that tasted like it came straight from a restaurant. Switching majors had added another two years of school.
“But,” he added, jabbing his fork at her, “if I couldn’t be a musician, I’d go for paranormal investigator.”
Adara swallowed before she spluttered. “Seriously?”
“Oh yeah.” His dark eyes sparkled, as if considering his glorious life as a ghostbuster. He was so full of crap. “Being paid to enter morbid places and try to communicate with the otherworld would be phenomenal. Plus, I’d be helping both people and restless spirits by sending them on to the light.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “I’d let you be my camera girl. Want to hear the song I’ve been writing?”
It took her a second to catch up with the subject change, and by that time, he’d exchanged his plate for the violin innocently hiding on the piano. The rice in her mouth lost all its flavor. “Nuh-uh. Nope. No way.”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “You’re my muse. It’s your song. As a duty of muse-dom, you’re required to listen.”
“I never signed up to be your muse.” She set her plate down and stood, ready to run into the night. “We’re working on the school concert tonight, nothing else.”
Dropping the bow and violin to his sides, he lowered his chin and peered at her beneath his dark lashes. “Please?”
A lightning bolt forked through her, pulsing electricity into every secret place. That look could coax the Pope into organizing a slavery ring. “I’ll think about it.” Not really. “That’s my best offer.”
“You thinking about me for an indeterminable amount of time is good enough for now.” His husky voice sent aftershocks along the still-smoking lightning trail.
She squeezed her thighs together. “Focus, Ambrose.”
“I am.” His gaze never left her face.
“Third-grade children.” She spoke slowly, so he’d understand. “Upcoming music recital. Weekly report.”
He thankfully replaced his violin on the piano and perched on the edge of the couch, just like Joey used to. “I’m still formulating a master plan and a concert theme, but a few things are figured out. Some are no-brainers, like separating the three terrorists in training. They can’t focus on anything beyond scaring any boy within range, if they’re together.” He looked a little terrified himself. “I want Haley on finger cymbals. She thinks they’re cute. Ava has shown a surprising knack for the xylophone and Dalaynee has kazoo written all over her. She particularly likes making noise.”
Back in the safety zone of school subjects, Adara sank onto the piano bench again and picked up her plate. Most people wouldn’t notice such intricacies in her students or decipher how to make the most of them. She shouldn’t be surprised, not after seeing how he so easily interpreted her. Even if he hadn’t learned how to rule kids with an iron fist, he was a practiced people reader.
He nabbed a magazine and blank page of sheet music and set them on the piano bench beside her. Kneeling on the floor, his head bent over the paper, he penciled a rough sketch of a stage and marked each student’s place with their first initial and abbreviated instrument as he went down the list. His hand was fascinating, tendons shifting subtly beneath his skin, a dusting of golden hair at his strong wrist, long fingers. The rousing scrape of his callused fingertips still echoed on her skin.
School. Recital. Students… Right.
She stopped him after Sammy. “Even if you want them both on a drum, don’t put Sammy and Adam together. They’ll destroy each other before the first song.”
“Percussion needs to be together.” Garret rubbed his bottom lip, studying his chart, and she tried to breathe normally. His mouth and hand in unison, in one spot, was an unfair play on her focus. “And no one else has a particular leaning for drums.”
It took her a moment to replay his words, another to respond. “Give one of the girls a crow sounder. Put her between them, but Adam needs to be on the outside, as far as possible from other kids. He can’t keep his hands to himself.”
Smirking, Garret glanced up. “When you’re around, I have that problem too.”
“Har.” She rolled her eyes. It was better than everything else other body parts suggested. “Plus, Adam’s a tripper. He never ties his shoes and has a perpetual scab on at least one elbow or knee the entire year.”
“I planned to give Sammy the bongo and Adam bass. Bass needs extra room, so it doesn’t make sense to place it in the middle.” He sat back on his heels. “While it goes against all my musical sensibilities, I’ll acquiesce to your judgment this once, Miss Dumont.”
“Good call, Ambrose. For once.”
He grinned, and it took every ounce of willpower not to grin back like an
idiot.
“What about Ashton?” The perfect subject to get her unruly thoughts back on track. Ashton was skittish, hardly spoke and coaxing her to make eye contact took a sticker, sometimes two. “I’m worried about getting her on stage, let alone keeping her there for a few songs without crying.”
“I’ve got it covered.” He flicked his fingers in the air, grabbed his plate and shoveled rice into his mouth like a starving vagabond. If she didn’t know how much he loved to blab, she might accuse him of avoiding the subject.
“Are you sure?” Maybe his certainty included whatever he’d been doing with Ashton and her brother when she’d run into them at the school after hours. If he flubbed up, she was ultimately responsible, and with Ashton’s timidity, she felt extra protective. “She’s super shy, you know.”
He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and gave her an offended royalty look. “I’m not a blind buffoon. Ashton is—” His phone rang, and he frowned at the screen. “It’s Roman, Bob’s police buddy…with Bella info.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
At the footsteps drawing closer, Adara turned from the library window she’d stared through for the last half-hour while Garret had been on the phone with Roman. The night offered a blank canvas for her thoughts and no answers, its silence made bearable only by his muffled voice from the kitchen. There were a lot of trees out there, so many places a stalker could be hiding, close and watching.
Garret’s expression was untroubled, a good sign. “Roman will check out the perimeter in the morning, and he’ll swing by here to chat afterward. Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Ready for ice cream?”
How he blazed from stalkers to dairy products with such ease, she’d never know. She swiped a hand over her forehead, weariness a sudden weight, as if Garret’s presence had finally made it okay to relax. She shook her head and yawned.
“Raincheck.” His smile was knowing. “Teacher’s tired.”
“So we know Bella isn’t at my house, but what about yours?” She shuffled past him, and he fell into step beside her, tagging along to the music room. Since it was his house, she didn’t complain. “What if she’s spying on you from the Ambrose Forest?”
“Unlike others I know, I always double lock my doors and windows. Spiders can’t even get through my security system, and while my fortress is impenetrable, dispatch is sending an officer to keep an eye on the grounds here too. You can sleep safe and sound.” He paused as she stooped for her duffel bag beside the couch. “Did you bring those adorable sheep pajamas?”
“What else?” She shouldered her bag and ignored how his dark eyes sparkled. Only a weirdo would be turned on by flannel pajamas decorated in fluffy white farm animals. It didn’t help that she happened to appreciate weirdness in all its forms. “Which way to the bathroom?”
Fifteen minutes later, face washed, breath minty fresh and sheep pajamas on, Adara ambled back to Garret’s music slash living room, the hardwood floor smooth and cool beneath her bare feet. The magnitude of the situation finally smacked her in the face. She was in his house, spending the night. With him. Her heart seemed to be out of sync, going from sledgehammer to finger taps to a death metal drum solo. She should’ve gone to a motel or Gia’s. What am I thinking?
The problem was she hadn’t been thinking, and if she backed out now, he’d know why. He’d know he was getting under her skin. Then, he’d never leave her alone and she could kiss her safety net goodbye.
As she entered the music room, the main source of her brain malfunction smiled, pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and patted the cushion. “Get comfy, darling.”
“Where are you sleeping?” The no-horseplay teacher tone she attempted fell flat, her throat strangling the words. She seriously hadn’t considered the potential consequences. Worse, she knew she should have when she made the decision to go with him, but she’d chosen not to. It was all completely Garret’s fault. He made her forget.
“It’s a big couch.” He looked hopeful.
“Not big enough for the both of us.” A lie. It was plush and oversized, clearly made for lounging more than sitting.
“I don’t mind snuggling.” One corner of his mouth lifted, and his voice lowered an octave. “I’ll keep you toasty.”
“Not a chance.” Staying toasty was at the bottom of her concern list. It was the rest of her stays that worried her. Whenever Garret was around, they loosened without permission, and imagining him keeping her toasty was far too easy. Far too tempting.
“I had an inkling you might say that.” He grinned all the way, letting her off the hook. “I’m patient. Tomorrow’s a new day.” He dropped his head, forlorn. “I’ll cozy up on the floor like an abandoned dog, shaking in the cold, longing for the warmth of his mistress.”
“The Ambrose dramatics are alarming.” She snatched the blanket from him.
“It’s a gift.”
“Or a genetic defect.” Adara plopped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions. His couch was made for Sunday afternoon naps, definitely made for snuggling. A combination of this couch and Garret would be hazardous to her health.
Watching her, he pressed his lips together, as if reconsidering his decision to sleep on the floor. “I’ll be back.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Since his back was turned and he couldn’t see her, she smiled at his chuckle and curled up into the cushions. The forest-green blanket was clearly handmade, crocheted by the softest yarn, and as she pulled it up to her chin, she drew in a lungful of ode de Garret. Sparks sizzled through her, gathering in her belly. This was where he slept every night, probably the same blanket he draped over his strong, lean, sexy body.
Closing her eyes, she struggled to push away the image of him on the couch with her, in his arms, their legs entangled, his mouth on hers. No matter how tempting, it was the right decision. Even if she was ready for a deeper relationship, he hadn’t mentioned his plans after his mentorship ended, and she hadn’t asked. He was like a tidal wave, and the only way to survive was to tread water and hope she didn’t drown while he passed through.
“Roman assured me your neighborhood would be heavily patrolled tonight. Maybe they’ll find her.” Garret strolled toward her, a blanket slung over his shoulder, a pillow tucked beneath one arm. His golden hair was completely free, low-slung, black pajama bottoms replaced his jeans and showed nothing else but skin and coiled, graceful strength.
Her mouth went dry. Fully dressed, he made her pulse jump. Shirtless was prone to cause heart attacks.
Apparently oblivious to her ogling, he dropped the blanket and pillow beside the couch and looked at her. The dark, burning sweep he gave her body under his blanket didn’t help her failing functions. “Need anything before I kill the light?”
You.
Gah.
It was not a thought she could entertain. Since her tongue had lost its ability to move, she shook her head.
He walked back to the light switch by the door, every step a supple roll of muscles beneath honeyed skin. Non-athlete, her bony patootie. The man was hard, lean and long, from the ridges of his shoulders to his narrow waist. The rest of him might not be bare, but her imagination made up for it.
The light clicked off, darkness disrupting her view, and the soft slap of his bare feet on the floor marked his approach. Material rustled, and his sigh drifted, soft in the gloom. “Comfortable, neshama?”
As comfortable as she could be with the sudden, scalding need squirming in her veins to surrender to the irrational sensations he inspired in her otherwise-reasonable being and pounce on him. “Peachy. I’ll try not to step on your sensitive parts when I sleepwalk.”
“Any sleepwalking secrets you want to share?” Interest colored his voice. She wouldn’t put it past him to follow her around while she zombied out, taking pictures to blackmail her into a date later.
“Kidding. I sleep like a corpse. Sorry to ruin your demented musician plans.”
“And I was having so many fantasies.” He tapped the couch
, sending a vibration through the cushions. “Still canvassing tomorrow?”
Another problem she didn’t want to think about. The next board meeting was coming up fast and she had a long way to go before her job was secure. Then she’d have to whip up a renewed budget of her own. Cutting her salary would hurt, but it was better than being in the unemployment line. “Yep. If I run into Bella, maybe I can recruit her to my cause.”
His voice darkened. “That’s not funny. I’ll go with you.”
“That would be great for your reputation. The local golden violinist boy supporting the death of music in schools.”
“I don’t support that,” he said quietly. “I support Adara Dumont. Big difference.”
Her throat tightened. Her world would be so much easier if he was a selfish, unlikeable jerk.
“Good night, neshama.”
“I’m so looking up that word tomorrow.”
“Let me know when you do.”
Tired as she was, the minutes still passed a slow march toward dawn. Garret was a simple reach away, and somewhere in the night, a stalker with unknown intentions. She couldn’t understand what drove a person to hunt another like prey, to hide inside a stranger’s house. Didn’t Bella have a job, a family, a life? It didn’t make sense to travel half a world away simply to spy on Garret. There had to be another reason. Despite the warm, Garret-scented blanket pulled up to her chin, she shivered. Tomorrow, she’d carve out some time to study up on stalkers.
“Adara,” Garret whispered, “are you asleep?”
She stared into the shadows. He had the hard floor to blame for not snoozing, and if she didn’t answer or move, she could go back to the useless wheel of her thoughts. Go back to listening hard to the subtle noises of an unfamiliar house at night. Go back to pretending.
“Not really.” With a sense of resignation, she rolled onto her side and scooched until her back pressed tight against the back cushions. “It’s nice of you to let me crash here, but this is your house, and you shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. I made room for you up here.”
